


Odette

by ruanyu



Category: White Collar
Genre: Elizabeth Approves, Emotional Hurt, First Time, Hurt Neal, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:46:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruanyu/pseuds/ruanyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was his Odette. There'd been an elusive veneer of romance to that realization once, even when tempered by the knowledge that this was the last innocence he was allowed, an innocence all the more precious to him because he knew just how dangerous it was.</p><p>Now that the flickering flame of his carefully shielded hope had died, there was a disconnect between himself and the cynical voice in his head, the I-told-you-so  that was repeating and repeating and repeating.</p><p>He couldn't blame her. He'd forged his own Kate and let himself pretend his was the original. The worst kind of arrogance. Like a sculptor creating his own goddess, he'd turned her into what he wanted her to be, instead of seeing her as herself. And she, in turn, had thought he was more than he was, better than he was. Stronger than he was. His careful masquerade, only skin-deep, had not been enough to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odette

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the first things I wrote, polished up a bit.

_He looked at her; a fragment of the fresco appeared in her face and in her body, and from then on he would always try to find it again, whether he was with Odette or was only thinking of her, and even though he probably valued the Florentine masterpiece only because he found it again in her, nevertheless that resemblance conferred a certain beauty on her too, made her more precious._

\-- Swann's Way

 

He opened his eyes, and it was there, right where he had left it last night. The letter that told him what he had always known, its crisp edges softened to a cloth-like texture, folded over and over and becoming nothing.

Search for something long enough, and you will find it. You will create it.

It felt unnatural to wake up and have no reason to move. Nothing to propel him through the day. No costumes to don, no faces to prepare for the faces he would meet.

He lay there, watching the white light of dawn slowly turn to the golden glow of early morning, and his mind wandered restlessly. For the first time since the first few days, he felt the weight of the ugly plastic device round his ankle. Keeping him still. Four years given up to circling around a blank future.

A future without Kate.

She was his Odette. There'd been an elusive veneer of romance to that realization once, even when tempered by the knowledge that this was the last innocence he was allowed, an innocence all the more precious to him because he knew just how dangerous it was.

Now that the flickering flame of his carefully shielded hope had died, there was a disconnect between himself and the cynical voice in his head, the I-told-you-so  that was repeating and repeating and repeating.

He couldn't blame her. He'd forged his own Kate and let himself pretend his was the original. The worst kind of arrogance. Like a sculptor creating his own goddess, he'd turned her into what he wanted her to be, instead of seeing her as herself. And she, in turn, had thought he was more than he was, better than he was. Stronger than he was. His careful masquerade, only skin-deep, had not been enough to save him.

Neither of them could withstand the damage done by disillusionment. Once you knew the masterpiece you held was a forgery, its glamor died.

 He would gaze at her for hours on end, trying to recapture the charm that he had once seen in her and could not find again.

He sat up in bed and contemplated venturing out of his room. It took him time to think about where he was, who he was, who June thought he was. He needed a bright dazzling smile and an excuse for not being the early bird today. He needed to practice his normality in the mirror. He needed to erase Kate from his mind. 

He inspected himself critically. He looked drawn, his jaw clenched too tight, his smile too careful. He tried again, a quicker grin. It looked like a lop-sided grimace.

The knock would have startled him if he'd heard it the first time. Instead, it intruded gradually, a dull sound behind the water from the tap. He turned the tap off and with one final look in the mirror, walked to the door and opened it, ready to fall into the day. 

"Sorry, I..." It wasn't June. It was Peter. Neal stared at him, wordless for a moment. Caught off-guard.

"Let me in," Peter said. It wasn't a request. 

Neal stepped back, mind jumping to the only possible conclusion. "June called you?"

Peter nodded. "She sees straight through you. You should have given up trying to con her by now." 

It was spoken lightly, the sort of needling that easily shifted the words between them away from everything Neal shied away from. He could pretend now, slip into his mock-offended skin. He could act normal. "She only sees what I want her to see," he said, arch, smile playing about his lips. The dour face Peter pulled made the smile genuine.

It was deft touches like this that convinced Neal that Peter hid his wit behind the act of FBI man. And then there was his enigmatic expression when he fixed Neal with a look and told him casually that Elizabeth requested his presence at their home today. "I have my orders. You are not allowed to decline."

 Neal looked at Peter directly. It was disarming, that he was so readable sometimes, so inscrutable at moments like these. Leaning against the door jamb, he looked pleasant, relaxed, friendly. Waiting.

 

He was too quiet in the car. He realized that when Peter's quick glance didn't quite hide the concerned look in his eyes, so he shook off the silence with a scathing remark about the color of Peter's tie. Peter responded easily, in the same spirit, and Neal was grateful he was allowing him to pretend everything was alright, even as he looked away from the speculative, too perceptive glances Peter kept giving him.

Standing at the door, he steeled himself against the thought of watching Peter and Elizabeth, and the effortless love between them. When Elizabeth came towards him wearing a gentle smile, he looked over her shoulder at Peter, waiting for the shift in expression. The way his eyes darken when Neal came too close to his wife. The way Peter would watch him, narrowly, when Neal was sitting on the couch with Elizabeth. When Elizabeth looked at him in that way she had. Considering, amused. Pleased.

Peter's protectiveness towards her made the yearning rise up in Neal. He had to hold it back as he hugged Elizabeth, a friendly, platonic hug. Except when he stepped back, Elizabeth wouldn't let him. The sensations of being surrounded sparked the fear that was always alive in him, and he broke away too suddenly, making her stumble. "Sorry," he mumbled, just as Peter steadied her.

They exchanged a quick glance before they faced him, waiting for something. 

 

He frowned at them. "What?" 

"She's not coming back, Neal," Peter said, an abrupt, uncompromising sentence. Peter being cruel to be kind.

 "I know that," Neal said, though it was the first time he had admitted it.

 Elizabeth stepped towards him, her eyes too perceptive. She put her hand on the side of his face, and he tried not to look discomfited.

"We don't want you to go through this alone," Elizabeth said. "We waited for you to come to us." She sounded disappointed in him. He hated hearing the subdued tone in her voice. Instantly wished never to hear it again.

"Except you didn't," Peter said.

Neal shook his head. "I'm dealing with it," he said it challengingly, stubbornly, because he knows they know he isn't dealing with it. Can't deal with it. 

Elizabeth's keen eyes softened. "Oh, Neal." 

That's when he decided. He had too push them away. They were too dangerous. This connection he had with them, this warmth he felt from them. It was a dream. Their circle did not include him. 

He emptied his mind of thought and leaned forward. His lips met hers, expecting resistance so more forceful than it should have been, hands going up to ward off her hands, body tensing in expectation of Peter's explosive fury.

Except there was no resistance.

Elizabeth didn't push him away. Instead he felt her lips part under his and her body come fully against his, encouraging him. He stepped back, breathless. She laughed a little, mouth kissed red and rosy and eyes dancing. "You should see how wide your eyes are, sweetheart." 

He let out the breath he had been holding and looked at Peter. "I just kissed your wife." His voice came out less assured than he had wanted to sound. 

Peter smiled. "You did." 

Neal stared at them, shook his head slowly. "You trying out something new?" he asked, aware that Elizabeth had never seen him like this, that she did not know the darkness he hid beneath a jaunty disguise, but he needed to understand what they thought they were doing, this couple with their suburban middle-class respectability. "Your sex life need a little spicing up?"

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't, because Elizabeth took a step back from him, the laughter gone. "I'd hoped you would know us better than that," she said, sombrely.

Peter glanced at her. "We wouldn't have mentioned it, if..."

"If I hadn't kissed Elizabeth?" Neal finished for him. "I thought you'd react the way most men would react."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't need anyone to protect me, Neal," she said, quite sharply for her.  "I know what I want." Her rebuke shamed him, and she saw that it did, because her tone softened. "My husband is confident enough to enjoy this part of our lives. And he wants this just as much as I do." 

"This is the first time I come to her about someone," Peter said. "I...uhm...I enjoyed watching you kiss my wife." 

Neal glanced at Elizabeth. 

"You can kiss my husband to even things out for me," she murmured, lips quirking up, daring him. 

Neal didn't move, because that was one dare he didn't want to take, but he went with it, of course he went with it, when a warm hand curled round the nape of his neck, fingers tilting his chin up the tiny fraction needed for their lips to meet. It lasted mere seconds, before Peter stepped away. Before Neal had quite recovered, he was speaking.  "We want this, Neal," he said, seriously. "Both of us." 

"Whether you say yes or no, there will always be a place for you in our family," Elizabeth said, then smiled at him with a wicked glint in her eyes. "Though I would much prefer it if you said yes."

Neal stood there, realising that she was standing to the side, and the door was unlocked and he could leave right now and they wouldn't stop him. They were waiting for his answer. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say please don't let this be a game. He wanted to close his eyes and open them and see them still waiting, just to be sure what had just happened had happened. But the hollowness in his heart and the years of emptiness and the electronic tracking device on his ankle said not yet.

When he said it he could not look directly at them. There was a small silence, and then Peter reached out to him, hand settling on his shoulder in a friendly touch, and Neal wondered how he could switch modes so subtly, until Elizabeth hugged him, passionless, brief, comforting. "We'll wait," she whispered, and her hair brushed his cheek and her eyes met his in a promise. Like she was giving him a reason. Giving him tomorrow.

 


End file.
